Vespertine
by Theda's Evening Writings
Summary: And just like that they meet again, ten years and lots and lots of pain later. Chapter 7 was just re-written!
1. Chapter 1

**Something I'm playing around with in expectation for Spectre. I haven't yet seen the movie. Depending on the feedback, I may continue this. Enjoy the read and thank you's in advance.**

 **I especially dedicate this to all of the broken hearted people in Brazil's towns of Mariana and Governador Valadares now, because of the horrible tsunami of toxic mud that destroyed entire towns, an entire river and threatens even more the balance of nature. This is also dedicated to the people of Lebanon and France for all of the blood, violence, death and fear constantly being caused by the evil hearts of men.**

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Definitively she was at a loss for words. Nothing could quite describe the sudden cooling of her skin even though her cheeks burned crimson in a mixture of shock and embarrassment. She could not put to words the jumble of emotions that struck her heart and mind so fully as she witnessed the image of him sitting discretely across the street, inside a small café. He had never appeared to be, in her opinion, the café type to begin with. Not when she knew for a fact that the allures and excesses of all things that happened at night—the dark and elegant bars, the scent of wood and worn leather, events where alcohol was served abundantly and preferably free, where beautiful women were also plentiful. Where clad in his smoking and designer watch there was not an evening that would pass where he wouldn't return to a seductive woman's apartment or a lavish hotel room. She knew him very well, had always watched from afar.

But never this close.

She wondered if he still thought of her, in the solitude of his apartment, or even now, sitting there by himself, an empty seat taunting him from across the table that held only a cup of coffee and a small vase of yellow lilies. She had never before tried to approach him—not once throughout this decade that had mercilessly flown by them—not once because she'd been afraid to and not once because it had also been forbidden.

She regretted it—every moment apart from him. She regretted being a coward, too afraid to act on her feelings, allowing herself to fall submissively at the feet of her superiors every single time. Not any superior, God knew—the other woman, the one with the hoarse and stern tone of voice, snowy white hair and a willpower and strength astonishing for such a small figure. She was gone now—all of them in reality—and she now found herself in a predicament where there was no one else to blindly obey, in a place where she could do whatever she felt like and undergo all consequences. There was no more protection, not physical, not virtual. It was completely and utterly frightening—to be alone and independent, thrown back into the world all of a sudden, after so many summers and winters in hiding; imprisoned in her tiny East London flat.

She was nearly knocked over, as a pedestrian forcefully bumped into her. She cursed under her breath and held on to the glass window of small boutique to gather her balance—the bastard having continued along his way, not even minding to apologize or make sure she was all right. She glanced across the street again and this time, for real, her heart accelerated impossibly and she felt on the verge of fainting. How pathetic she was and felt, as his icy blue eyes, wide in shock and bewilderment, landed on her and in a split second he rose from his seat, threw money on the table and recklessly crossed the busy street—heading towards her—not caring the least bit if the drivers honked their car horns at him or shouted obscenities.

He stopped in front of her, blue eyes boring into hers. He was impossible to read.

They stood there for what felt like a lifetime, swerving from the passersby and uttering not a single word. His eyes simply travelled her body, not in a sexual way, but as if to search her for clues that this was not real—that she was no longer real. He was reacquainting himself with her and it was the single most heartbreaking thing she had ever witnessed. As her eyes met his, there were tears pooling in his eyes and he tried to keep his lips from trembling. He was trying and failing to put on his armor and rebuild those defenses.

"But how can this be?" He said, his voice breaking and so low that she had barely heard him. "How, _Vesper_?"

And then she saw the plain gold band on his left hand finger and his eyes followed hers.

"Had I known…" He trailed off, inhaling deeply, composing himself. "Had I known I would have never, not unless it was with you."

Vesper shook her head, both in disbelief and to fight off the sobs that threatened to escape her. For the first time in ten years, his hands gently made contact with the soft and bare skin of her arms, both tender and firm—a silent request for her to stay.

She counted the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and reveled on the fact that they were more numerous. Her fingers tentatively traced the lines and Vesper couldn't help but reacquaint herself as well. The stubble of his beard, the softness of his short hair, growing at the back of his head.

 _"_ _Oh James… I'm so sorry."_ A tear escaped her big blue eyes as she closed her eyes and pulled her hands away from him. He did the same.

"How are you still alive, how is this even possible?" Vesper could no longer contain the tears and sobs that prevented her from being able to speak coherently. She simply shrugged and wrapped her arms around herself, repeatedly shaking her head.

"M and MI6, James. Up until last year I was in the witness protection program… I couldn't have contacted you if I wanted to. Always watched, always monitored… always a coward."

"Ten bloody years." She nodded. "After all that you did—all of what they did to us—how can I still love you?" His tone was of defeat as he admitted the fact. "Even in death you haunted me, no woman could ever compare. Still can't. But I'm with Madeleine now and slowly she's helped me cure myself… Of all of the guilt I carry for the lives I took, for my past and you—help me get cured from the ghost and memories of you."

"And here I am, ruining it all." He noticed her bitter smile and tone. "I'm sorry."

"And what happens now?"

"We move on with our lives—I'll try to find a job, perhaps take a few classes here and there and you, James Bond, you be happy with that beautiful wife of yours—because I know she is. I'll turn around in a second or two, with a heavy heart and once again I'll be dead to you."

"Why does everything have to be so sad?"

"Would our story be this interesting if it were not… tragic, brutal and sad? I don't think so."

"Interesting to whom?"

"The universe, God, the stars above—evils we cannot control. I honestly don't know… But I'm turning around now, James, for good—and don't you dare try and stop me." James Bond refrained from saying another word and dug his hands in his pant pockets. She disappeared into the crowd and once again from his life.

Only she was not dead and he would not let her disappear from his life any longer. Yes, he did love Madeleine and was grateful to her—but she was not that woman who had just been before him—the only woman he had even in death loved more than anything in the world. His skin burned and tingled where she had touched him, his fingers ached to feel her skin once again beneath their tips. His ears longed for her husky, melancholy and utterly enticing voice. And his still beating heart pathetically begged for her to once more give him life.

He vowed to find her again, to be with her once more and in the way that it should have always been. He was no longer a young man—time to waste and adrenaline his fuel—no, he was tired, exhausted of living this life of solitude and grayness, because honestly, this couldn't be what their lives were destined to be. James Bond refused to accept the fact that he would have to end his days without the presence of her, Vesper Lynd, in his life. And suddenly, without having at least expected it, he found that his fuel was her.


	2. Chapter 2

He walked out holding just his suit jacket over his left shoulder, taking in the cool air of nighttime Kensington. Madeleine had stayed behind in their large, modernized, high-end flat—asleep on the bed that had been theirs for the past year. James Bond hated this, having made to her a vow and then finding himself in this terrible predicament of wanting desperately to break it. Madeleine would despise him and those warm green eyes would forever hold for him disappointment and contempt. And his wife of a year, most certainly did not deserve for it to end this way. He felt that he failed Madeleine, wishing to leave her for another woman. But Vesper, she wasn't just anyone, even he wasn't a fool enough to deny it—somehow deep within himself, James Bond had always known that there was no one else but her.

She had changed him for the better in a way, Madeleine. She had taught him again to savour the little things and allow himself to be happy… and sad when the times came. Together they had explored the unknown territories of a monogamous relationship, well, unknown to him. With Vesper—and God, now more than ever she wouldn't leave his min—it had been only a month or two of pure honeymoon bliss… And James doesn't even need to get started on how well it had ended. But when he had witnessed the living, breathing, beautiful existence of her, five months ago it felt in his heart and conscious that he wasn't betraying Madeleine, by desiring Vesper, but betraying the dark-haired devil of a woman who had robbed him so fully of his heart and soul.

The streets were wet from the heavy rains earlier and finally the clouds had melted away, offering a decent view of that star-filled sky… Even if it didn't compare to the immense and heavy skies of any country village, desert or that of the deep and endless sea. Looking up at the full moon hiding behind skyscrapers to the noise of mild nighttime traffic and groups of loud worriless teens flocking by, he appreciated the very fact that he was alive to be here, to be able to have a chance with Vesper Lynd once again.

James had seen her from afar just two weeks ago, climbing on top of a bicycle with one of those baskets in front, a stack of library books inside and riding away towards wherever it was she lived. She'd been leaving an art museum, a giant neo-classic building with hundreds of steps and large banners promoting an exhibit on Renoir and a performance of Medea in the theater. Vesper had been wearing dark dress pants and a plain sweater, a long red scarf wrapped around her neck and flying behind her as she pedalled away. He could recognize her anywhere. Perhaps because of the effortlessly elegant way she carried herself, or maybe the striking contrast between the darkness of her hair and paleness of her skin. Perhaps it was her red painted lips, curved at the corners as she smiled to herself. James wondered what it was that she could have thought of that elicited such a beautiful reaction from her. And he was certain it hadn't been him. Vesper not once had glanced in his direction.

As he passed by the boutiques and shops that were closed for the night and a number of pubs and restaurants full of life here and there he felt the characteristic—and utterly annoying—vibration of his phone buried deep in his pocket. He huffed and pulled it out, reading 'caller unknown' on his screen and pressing his thumb on the green button.

"Bond." He heard some odd shuffling from the other end of the line and just about rolled his eyes thinking it was one of those stupid prank calls. Instead, he heard the voice of the very woman he'd been thinking of. He had been so surprised and so excited that it didn't even pass his mind the question of how on earth she had found his number.

"James… God I can see you, turn around, I'm at the Papillon restaurant behind you."

And indeed as he did what she ordered, there she stood at the entrance of the restaurant in a casual floral dress, plain black heals and coat. She waved at him with a small smile. And God was she the most stunning woman there.

He walked toward the entrance, burying his phone once again in his pocket and digging both his hands in the pocket of his jacket. The last thing he had expected was to find her here, tonight, of all places.

"I just left work and was meant to meet here with friends—their boy is sick so they had to cancel last minute." Vesper's voice was low and it seemed to James that the joy in her voice from before diminished as she slowly realized that in reality, they hadn't been intimate in over a decade. And he was a married man, which made it all the more inappropriate for her having called him over.

What a crazy little mess was her mind, when in their last encounter, it had been she who had turned her back on him and disappeared into the city—telling him to once again think of her as dead in his mind.

"You found a job then?" She nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a deep frown now adorning her features. "As an accountant?" Vesper shook her head and silently lead him towards the table she'd reserved days before.

"For three still, Madame?" The tall waiter asked and Vesper responded with a shake of her head, offering the man a polite smile.

"Just two, Mathieu, thank you." Mathieu the waiter nodded retributing her smile, handing each of them a menù, going on to check on other tables. "No, I haven't worked with numbers in a long time." James raised his eyebrows quizzically, the corner of his lips curving into a smirk.

"Boring job?"

"More like I changed—a lot—and had enough spare time to enroll in university again and get a master's degree—in visual arts. I work as an assistant curator and designer at the London Gallery now." James chewed on the breadstick he'd pulled out of the basket, courtesy of the house and nodded. There was a long and awkward silence afterwards, as Vesper stared down at her menù just so she wouldn't have to face him. In all honesty, she felt that asking would be all too inappropriate.

"I'm no longer in service if that is what you're wondering." He said as he signalled for Mathieu and ordered an expensive bottle of French wine. "Too soon for dinner, what do you think?" Vesper just stared back at him with that look of annoyance of hers, but he knew she was more annoyed by herself.

"Mathieu, I'll have today's special—I don't know about Mr. Bond…" Bond shook his head and replied that the drink was just fine, that he'd eaten at home earlier. "Maybe this is a mistake," she started, biting into a breadstick herself, blue eyes avoiding his gaze. "and too soon. You are a married man now, James, a lot has changed in the past years—too much I cannot avoid as much as I want to. That's one of the things. I will not be a homewrecker or a mistress or whatever…"

"I never asked you to be any of that or whatever." He leaned forward, closer to her face, Vesper could tell from his expression that was being dead serious. "If anything, I'm trying to sort my feelings out. You think it makes me happy that I'm suddenly here with you, while Madeleine is at home alone? I was meant to go for a walk and cool off, we had one of those fights that married couples always have. But you always have to get in the way of things—dead or alive."

And in his blue eyes was all of the anger and ressentment he had carried for so long. Her cool and small hand landed soothingly on top of his larger and hardened one. Imediately he relaxed and etched that small and loving touch to his brain.

"We should have been a shakespearian tragedy…" Vesper mumbled with the hint of a grin.

"Hmm. And Vesper sounds like a strange enough name to go in it." She swatted his arm from across the table, her cheeks red from the wine and from the turbilion of emotions felt in such a small portion of time.

"This wasn't so bad…" She reasoned, an empty bottle, glass and plate later as he sat across from her.

"I want to leave Madeleine." James Bond blurted out wearing a deep frown, his forehead creased out of frustration. "I can't go on cheating on you."

Vesper Lynd's eyes slowly left the intricate pattern of the tablecloth to meet with his intense sea-colored gaze. They were wide in shock and James knew she wouldn't react as well as he hoped. She felt guilty, he knew.

"James—you're not cheating on me, not when nothing's happened between us in over ten years. You thought I was dead, to begin with…" She trailed off. "I feel as though we are cheating on her."

"No. Never. But I need to know, from you, Vesper, are you willing to give us another chance?" She stayed both motionless and seemingly mute for a long time. All sorts of things going on behind her blue-gray eyes.

The wait for an answer pained him more than anything, a million of possible outcomes going through in his head. And she simply sat there, staring at him, frozen in place and utterly confused. And how could James possibly blame her?

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 **I would like to thank Ella, Hannah, Jess and Coco for their awesome reviews. This chapter was for you! I hope you enjoyed it, and stay tuned**!


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all, once again, so very much for the lovely reviews and feedback so far. Enjoy this Vesper-centric chapter!**

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Vesper Lynd arrived at her third floor flat at half-past eleven that evening to the excited barking of her dog. Tilly was what Vesper had named her, two years ago upon finding her abandoned in the streets, then only a stray and sickly little thing. Tilly seemed like the unlikely mix of a basset hound with an overly energetic cocker-spaniel or Maltese… But then again she'd never been good with recognizing different types of animals. All that Vesper knew was that Tilly, with her short and chubby legs, fallen ears and shiny black eyes—oh so clumsy—was her only companion in this life.

As Vesper cautiously removed her coat and scarf hanging them on the vintage iron hooks by her door, she tried to steer clear of Tilly's pouncing on her, which more often than not in heals or socks made her lose her balance, on the exquisite hardwood flooring. She kicked off the heels that painfully dug into the sensitive skin of her feet, cursing herself for once again wearing them. It seemed she never learned… vanity would be her downfall, she was certain.

She flicked the light switches and immediately she could find her way through the brand new furniture of her apartment. There were still a few boxes piled up in the corners of her dining area that still needed unpacking—mostly books and dusty memorabilia she had collected from frequenting antique shops and Portobello road for so long.

The walls of her apartment, she'd been proud to have painted them on her own. Sure, off-white wasn't the most radical of choices, but it had been her choice and God how she'd come to savor each and every one of them. They accented her many paintings and posters though, which brought color and life to the large room. In the far wall, her round 60's style wooden table and chairs faced the large windows and French doors that lead to her small terrace. This apartment took away a large portion of her monthly wages, but it was home, finally a home and nothing could possibly keep her from staying here.

She sunk into the soft charcoal-colored suede of her new sofa, complete with the throw pillows she finally had the chance to cover with the embroidered cases she'd bought years before on Portobello and one short trip to a textile factory in Liverpool, where she'd purchased the exclusive brightly colored prints and patterned fabrics. The rest of the deed she had done herself on her sewing machine. It was funny really, how all her life she thought it to be a very bad job and utterly dull hobby to have—sew—but she had grown to love it and with time and a lot of trial and error, she began to create some things for around the places she'd lived in… to try and make them a bit more personal. The curtains, the bed skirts, the pillow cases, her kitchen aprons and even the cover of Tilly's cot. She'd mend buttons and fix the hems of too long trousers and skirts, tighten or loosen a piece of clothing that just wasn't right… Vesper created dresses and skirts for herself—nothing too fancy—mostly for wearing at home or running errands. And it was a pastime that made her happy; her personal projects gave her something to do—a purpose on most days. Although now that she had a job she loved and that took most of her free time, her sewing projects had grown further and further apart. But it was all right.

Her head hurt badly as she stared at the blankness of her ceiling. Tilly was on the floor by the couch just about ready to fall asleep. Vesper on the other hand, hadn't much hopes of doing the same. Her thoughts kept reverting to James and the things they'd spoken about—the way his eyes unabashedly penetrated her gaze, the way his charm still very much captivated her. But he wasn't just charms, he was wit with a dash of dark humor that had her falling back into their old bantering and challenging patterns.

And then, as always, he had been too blunt and impulsive about things—that was probably where they diverted the most. He knew what he wanted and was ready to do what it would take for him to get it— _her_. Things were moving far too fast for Vesper's liking—nay, comfort. James entering her life again and now his eagerness and insistence that they throw everything to the air and simply be together, as a couple—as he believes they always should have been… It was something that never in a million years during the time they'd been apart she'd prospected.

He just seemed so certain of his feelings for her… How could he be? So much had changed in her that even Vesper herself had a hard time keeping track. So much had happened during these ten years, and although she did believe his feelings to be genuine—God, he was willing to leave his wife—she wasn't so sure that her feelings were. Maybe, just maybe, they had never been.

Vesper had always cared and thought of him—the memories of their time together—so bittersweet, had plagued her for so very long. But back then, Vesper had wanted very much to love him—because despite him having taken lives—even so brutally in front of her, his true self was easy to love—once he'd given a chance for people to know it. He'd been a challenge to her, emotionally and intellectually... they'd been somewhat equals. James Bond knew how to be tender and sweet, he also knew which of her buttons to push… As she'd also learned his.

Still, nothing, none of it had ever been sunshine and roses, _au contraire_. And despite the tingles she felt on her skin and the way her heart beat fast in her chest when he was near… What if it was all a terrible illusion? Perhaps Vesper had dwelt on these feelings—and James too—for so long, that maybe just maybe, their feelings for one another were just… inexistent. Vesper could have very well allowed herself to create feelings in her mind, memories that in reality had not existed. She had been part of a plan after all, to seduce him. It was what she was supposed to have done… and succeeded. Perhaps she'd wanted so hard to have loved him, because Yusuf that bastard of her boyfriend back then had been a lost cause—because James was there, free and willing and he made her feel so damn alive. Perhaps she had acted her part so well, that even her mind she had convinced. that she loved him—that he was her greatest love, that she had to be with him.

And now, Vesper lay here in the solitude of her home—miserably confused and also fearful. Afraid of these feelings that were so intense and hard to make sense of, that they dizzied and exasperated her. Vesper sighed deeply and closed her eyes, hoping for slumber to soon arrive and lull her into a dark and dreamless sleep.

…

She awoke on a bright and early Saturday morning, the sun shining through the curtains and hitting her face. She could hear the clicking of Tilly's nails against the wood as she impatiently wandered the house—most likely expecting to be fed. Vesper stumbled out of the sofa, finding that she was still very much wearing yesterday's tight and floral ensemble—and from how utterly stiff she felt, the expensive little thing had been the opposite of comfortable. She poured her darling pet fresh water and filled her bowl with dog food. Upon caressing an eager and tail wagging Tilly, she made way for her bedroom and straight for the shower.

The scorching hot water was heaven against her skin, seemingly rinsing away all of her troubles and cleansing her momentarily of thoughts of him. And _damn it_ , there James was again, invading her mind and driving her mad with those blue eyes and silly large ears of his. Vesper couldn't help but smile at the thought. James was no common or obvious beauty—probably handsome wasn't the way to properly describe him. But he was attractive in a very particular way—his body language, his voice, the curving of his lips, a sort of roughness about him, he could be somewhat... _rugged_.

…

Vesper climbed on her bicycle that morning, as she did all Saturdays and pedaled towards her favorite café. It was a small and quaint establishment with a surprising array of the most decadent breads and pastries and the overall finest cup of black coffee in East London.

"Well if it isn't _Ms. Vespertine_." The cafés owner greeted with a smile. Vesper chuckled at the name he had come to exclusively call her by and pulled out a chair for herself. Not a single request had to be made as Ben immediately began serving her a cup of coffee at the counter and cutting a slice of her favorite strawberry torte.

"Benjamin." She returned with a smile. She liked him, a lot. Dark hair and eyes, about her age, typical and utterly sexy lumberjack style. But with Benjamin it was different than with James. For starters, Ben was just about the closest thing she had to a friend and as handsome as he was—with him, her heart didn't skip a beat, her skin didn't tingle. All she felt was a sort of peace and a certain amount of warmth. But at her age—thirty-seven—Vesper couldn't help but wonder if maybe just maybe, it was the peace that was more ideal. Peace that she would most likely not find with James.

"How was your week, blue eyes?" Vesper took a sip of her coffee and sighed heavily.

"Like a roller-coaster."

"Hmm, sounds… vague, as always. Anyone ever tell you you're an infuriating mysterious little thing?" Vesper laughed at this, even throwing her head back, eyes shutting out of pure and unabashed merriment. She tried to compose herself, after a long few seconds and her cheeks coloring into a bright crimson.

"What, woman, I'm serious! I've known you for what, a year now? I don't even know if Vesper is your real name. Doesn't sound like a name…" She frowned at this.

"Well it's the name my parents stuck me with. And your week?" She arched a brow, inquiringly. Savoring her delicious slice of breakfast dessert.

"Meh—nothing truly exciting, although I met go out of town for a few days this week to come, my parents will be celebrating their 40th anniversary in Calais. Can you believe, committing yourself that long to another person? And it's cute really, the way they still look at one another."

"A rarity—you should really make an effort to go." Ben nodded and was about to comment on something else when he was called upon by other customers, sitting in the farthest booth. Vesper just sat there drinking what was left of her coffee, trying as best as she could to keep the blue-eyed former -00 out of her mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm sorry for the long delay in updating this story that honestly, has been a pleasure to write. I thank you all for the amazing amount of comments and feedback I have been receiving. You all are the best-which is why you'll love the end of this chapter. Keep on showing your love through reviews please! You can't imagine how wonderful and motivating it is to receive them.**

 **Enjoy!**

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Saturday night and James Bond walked inside the apartment he shared with his wife, at about ten. He was exhausted, had spent most of his day at MI6's gym and shooting quarters—trying to make sense of this entire mess that now was his life—trying to release or at the very least push back all of the anger and resentment he felt.

James resented the fact that during all of these years, he'd been kept away from the woman he loved because of what, _convenience_? He was angry at the fact that so soon, he had grown fed up with his marriage; he felt as if he had failed himself and Madeleine—as if he were stuck in an inescapable cage. James was angry because a part of him feared Vesper's rejection, because there was a strong chance that she no longer loved him—what with the years that had passed them, the distances between them.

He felt hurt and betrayed by the single person he had ever so blindly trusted. Olivia, M, had no right to have withheld from him the information that Vesper was still alive. She had no right to interfere in his personal life, which she had done, repeatedly. Still, it angered James that he could not come to hate the blasted old woman—this all only caused him to crave her presence even more. Moreover, he absolutely hated the fact that she was dead—unreachable, unable to be here with him and tell him with the prickly words she was so fond of using, what he should and should not do. Truth was, he felt rather lost without her here, in his life.

Had it been Moneypenny, who once mentioned that he had lost more than a boss or superior when M had died? It was true—James had lost a person who in a way, filled the void of a mother in his life. M in a way had stood for _mother_ , above anything else. In addition, like with any other mother, at least the ones James Bond had heard of, the M also stood for meddler, misleading, manipulative and very much missed.

He had beat the hell off of that black punching bag, trying to get rid of all this pent up tension on his shoulders and his life. He shot at the paper targets at the range as if his life depended on it, as if one by one, he was killing off all of his problems and silly emotions. He panted and tired and it hurt more than it ever had before. James for the first time, truly felt the weight and the burden of age. He cursed and hated himself for each shot that he missed and he held back tears at the feel of the burn in his chest and the unschooled muscles of his back.

James hated himself for having grown old. The Achilles syndrome, Madeleine called it. Better to live a short and glorious life—die honorably in better, than to live a long, ordinary, eventless life. He was too old now, though, to die young and he certainly would not go down, without a fight.

He dropped his keys on the bowl on top of the kitchen counter and slowly walked towards their bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt. As he opened the door, he was surprised by the image of his wife in her most sexy and revealing negligée. Her legs spread out on top of the bed, so smooth and flawless. Madeleine's golden hair was slightly messy, adding to her charms and he couldn't deny the allure of the curve of her generous breasts. James knew what she wanted—sex—he couldn't blame her, as he could barely recall the last time they'd had any. Aside from childhood, perhaps this had been his longest period without it… Still, he turned on the dimmed lights and walked right passed her, locking himself in their large bathroom. He stayed in there for hours, bathing as slowly as he could, shaving as ceremoniously as he could—waiting for her to maybe, just maybe, give up and fall asleep. He brushed his teeth and flossed, clipped his finger nails and reluctantly rubbed on some of Madeleine's hand creams—it smelled of lavender which reminded him of fresh laundry and babies. The first was excellent, the second he wasn't so sure of.

Over an hour later, James crept out of the bath, wrapped in the robe he barely ever used. His wife lay on the bed, wide-awake with a large frown adorning her pretty face. She had changed into her silk pajamas and was already beneath the covers. He walked inside their large closet and put on his sleep clothes as well, old gray sweatpants and a white cotton t-shirt, slightly old, that sometimes he would wear to the gym. He returned to the room and Madeleine was still there, arms crossed above her chest, scrutinizing him with her icy gaze. Her reaction both pained and annoyed him—it hurt that he in a way, was hurting her. She didn't deserve it—the way things had turned out between them, the past few months.

James carefully pushed away the covers on his side of the bed. Madeleine's eyes not for a moment left his blue ones. She was challenging him, James could tell. As he made a move to sit and consequently lay on the bed, she violently pushed and kicked him away. She hadn't needed to say a word. James slipped out of the room carrying his pillows and the book he had been indulging in—a farewell gift from Tanner— _The Prophet_ , by Khalil Gibran. Bond found that he loved it, the amazing words of wisdom. And so he settled, for good, on his sofa—thanking the gods for him having chosen, months and months ago, something soft, spacious and comfortable.

…

He tapped his feet incessantly against the hardwood floors. He sat there for hours and it maddened her to such an extreme… She walked around in a casual too large shirt and a pair of worn sweatpants. She would pass him by every few minutes and he ignored her just about all morning. This was what had become of their once exciting and adventurous Sunday mornings. James wouldn't look at her, wouldn't touch her, hardly ever said a word—and she, Madeleine, partly angry and partly desperate would entertain herself with scenarios in which he would die a slow and agonizing death or of him cheating on her with a younger and more attractive woman; and perhaps even worse, scenarios where her husband would become her merciless killer.

Tap, tap, tap and with each tap more James Bond felt as though he were suffocating. He longed for the outdoors but the rain was pounding and the wind was dangerously howling—the thunder and lightning threatened all of those who dared to be on the streets. James knew that her eyes watched him like those of a hawk. He knew very well that she not only noticed but also was disturbed by his petulant behavior; by the way he in so little time had grown so apart from her—physically and emotionally.

Her husband had been sitting there all morning on their living room couch, where once again he had slept during the night. He tapped his feet non-stop against the wooden floorboards of their apartment, the sound utterly irritating her. Madeleine knew it was due partly to his anxiety and partly because he simply sought to annoy her. Sometimes James could be so very immature…

He felt himself a coward for doing this to her, his lovely and sweet, golden-haired Madeleine. Truth was, however, that James knew not how to be forthright with her, he hadn´t the courage to look into Madeleine's eyes and explain the true reasons as to why he was now acting the way he was—because he loved Vesper, because he longed to be with her—because these nearly eleven years had been too long and miserable already, apart from the enigmatic woman who singlehandedly had been his heart's ruin.

She passed him several times, back and forth from the kitchen, to her office, to their bedroom and back—although now it was more hers. Madeleine was taunting him, provoking him, trying to make him speak, react, anything. James wouldn't budge and it was exasperating her. It honestly felt as if their marriage had reached rock bottom. Deep inside, Madeleine had to admit, she had known that one day it would all come to this. She hadn't expected, however, for this to happen so soon in their marriage.

Dr. Madeleine Swann found herself at half-past ten on a rainy Sunday morning, grabbing her coat and Italian leather briefcase and fetching her keys from the ceramic bowl on top of their kitchen counter, a souvenir from their honeymoon in Machu Picchu. She left as quickly as she could, seeking the solace of her office—she could no longer stand the sight of him. So as she did whenever on a mood or in denial, she overworked herself. _Better to cater to other people's problems, than her very own._

…

As soon as Madeleine had stormed out of their door and he heard her car leaving the driveway, James took his phone in his hands and called the only person who could help him out at a moment like this. He listened impatiently as the line rung once, twice, three times. Then, the person on the other line picked up and all James could feel was this intense pounding of his heart in his chest. For a second there, he felt like a young lad again.

" _Her address is number 363 Acacia road, apartment 3-B._ "

…

Vesper Lynd had her red teakettle whistling when she heard the buzz of her intercom. Suddenly, Tilly began to bark, loudly and it all was overwhelming to her senses. She was still drowsy from sleep. It wasn't like her to wake up just before noon, in fact, she had always been an early riser. However, yesterday once again, the nightmares and the insomnia she suffered from on occasion came to torment her and Vesper found herself able to sleep only way past six in the morning.

Only a minute or two later, the time it took for her to turn off her stove and quickly pull on her red sweater, she heard a muffled "It's James," from across the her wide, wooden apartment door. She had no choice but to open it, coming face to face to the man she least needed to see at the moment, but who against all reason, Vesper couldn't help but desire.

He stifled a cough and her eyes went wide, once she realized they'd been standing there at her door for a rather long time. She shook her head and motioned for him to come inside, shutting and locking the door behind him.

As Vesper was about to speak, something resembling a greeting or a how are you, his hands had grabbed on to her elbows and his lips were on hers. Against all reason, she pressed herself closer and harder against him, standing on the tip of her bare toes. An arm of his went around her waist and the other tangled itself in the dark and soft depths of her hair. It was so passionate and intense—as if an hour hadn't passed from those glorious days at Lake Como. The way her skin tingled with his firm, but still tender touches, the way he competed and taunted her with his lips and tongue. Her delicious blackberry scent was intoxicating and utterly divine. His hands wandered beneath her sweater, he longed to feel more of her decadent and soft, fair skin. His fingers wandered towards those places that both tickled and pleasured her, played with the hem of her brassiere. Her nimble fingers stumbled to undo each button of his shirt, until the urge and impatience were so much, that she simply ripped it wide open.

And as they passionately reacquainted themselves with each other, on her large and heavenly bed, the day passed them by.

They would both deeply regret this later, not as a sin towards one another, not because it hadn't been good— _it had been greater than good_ , probably the best sex either of them had ever had. It was the consequences that weren't so good.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for taking the time to read this little story of mine. I sincerely hope that you're aware of just how much I appreciate each and every reader and review. I hope you all will enjoy this one...**

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The following morning as James Bond awoke in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, he stretched out his arm to feel her warm presence next to him, only for his hands to fall lower, onto cool white sheets, her presence long gone. His heart beat rapidly in his chest in an overwhelming mixture of fear and despair—had he imagined it all?—their hours and hours of passionate lovemaking, of reacquainting themselves once again with one another—had it all been some kind of cruel illusion?

He slowly rose from the bed and entered her adjoining bathroom. As he stared at his reflection for a long minute—still drowsy from sleep—he spotted the very white button-up shirt he had arrived in yesterday. The tiny white buttons that had scattered onto the floor as Vesper had struggled to remove the article of clothing from him, each button had been perfectly sewn back on and the shirt itself was ironed to perfection.

As he heard the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open, he half-expected for Vesper to walk inside and admonish him for taking so long in the morning—breakfast going cold. Instead, his eyes fell onto the image of Vesper's dog, reprimanding him with those giant brown eyes. Tilly, was it? He pet the dog and put on the shirt the amazing blue-eyed woman had carefully fixed for him, heading out into her living room, where he spotted next to a thermos, a small basket of bread, honey, jam, butter and cream cheese, along with a small and rather bossy note—typical Vesper.

 _I left for work. Please take Tilly on her morning walk in the park for at least 20 minutes, I was running late this morning for obvious reasons. I also fixed the hem of your trousers—I hung them to dry by my office window. You can thank me later with some decent wine and a generous amount of Belgian chocolates._

 _–_ _V_

James could not help but smile in relief—she had gone to work, it was Monday after all… He gulped down some coffee, had two slices of buttered toast and went searching for his pants, shoes and now even the dog's leash. Thirty minutes later, he was out of Vesper Lynd's door and into the bright and busy London morning, walking around with Tilly, clasped in her bright red leash. He didn't mind that he looked fairly ridiculous, holding on to a small and cute little animal, waiting for her as Tilly sniffed and moved around in her own rhythm. They had been on their way back to Vesper's apartment when he spotted a familiar face, a young man playing with a boy and girl on the small playground, brown hair in need of a fresh cut—poor taste in clothing and the typical black-framed nerd glasses—Q himself.

James did not know if he approached or not, it had been at least six months since their last encounter, although many a time from long distance, Q had reluctantly pulled a few technological strings for James—for old times' sake. Before he could decide though, James Bond was stunned by the jumping and barking of Tilly towards the little girl who jumped back in fright.

"Ada, I thought I asked you not to leave my sight…" He heard come out of his former colleague's mouth and suddenly Q was surprised to see the former -00 as well. "Bond—never took you as a _doggy_ type…" The man said with a teasing grin, pushing back his glasses.

" _Dad_ , you promised to take us to the zoo…" The boy complained, kicking around a round piece of stone. The girl, Ada, simply took Q's hand and quietly observed both men's encounter.

"You have children—I thought it was only cats." James pointed out.

"Ada and Jasper live with their mum in Sydney; they're here with me for the holidays. Ada, Jasper, this is Mr. James Bond—he used to work with me in the government."

"'Ello, sir." Ada shyly replied, staring up at James and then at the hyperactive dog at his side who wouldn't stop moving and wagging her tale. "What's your dog's name?"

"I think its Tilly, I'm not sure… She belongs to a friend." Ada nodded and slowly and cautiously moved towards the animal, outstretching her hand. Tilly sniffed her and then licked, eliciting a cheerful giggle from Q's little child. Ada's chubby cheeks turned a bright shade of pink and she squint her big brown eyes in pure joy. The boy, Jasper, a year or two older, then followed suit.

"Dad has two cats—we're not allowed pets back home in Sydney, our mum's allergic. Have you ever been in Sydney, Mr. Bond?" Ada inquired.

"Yes, yes I have. It's a very nice city. Do you find it a pleasant place to live?"

"I much prefer London. Here I get to be more with my dad. Do you have kids?" Bond shook his head in denial and Ada nodded in understanding.

"Why not? You're old! You should have kids by now." Jasper intervened and then was censored by his father with a stern look. James Bond didn't know if he should laugh at the brutally honest question or cry. Well, obviously, he wouldn't cry, it would be silly to do so, but he really hadn't been expecting that.

…

"I take it you and Ms. Swann have parted ways—because of the dog I mean." Q said, as they sat on a park bench as the children played. Tilly was sitting resting at their feet from all of the walking and running around with the children.

"No actually…" James sighed heavily and stared straight ahead. Giving up on forming a proper explanation.

"You've come across Ms. Lynd I gather…" Q asked, which surprised Bond to the core. He imagined Q would know a lot about him, his former operations, everything there was to know from the system. Had his affair with Vesper so long ago remained a detailed and semi-public aspect of his life, open to anyone who could access the damn computers? He hope not or there would be hell to pay…

"How do you know?" He asked, seemingly unfazed.

"I gave her your number, the former M made me promise to keep an eye on her—what is the deal with her, what's your story?"

"I figured it would be all over the files…"

"Well it's not, she made sure to keep those as vague as possible, trust me, it wasn't for a lack of trying."

"We were in love and she was a double agent, at the time I was chasing down Le Chiffre and first encountered White. I thought she'd been dead all of these years."

"Right when you're married to the wonderful Ms. Swann." James nodded and sighed once more. "Very unfortunate timing if you ask me. What're you to do now?"

"Vesper and I had sex last night, I don't know if it will change things—with her, with Madeleine, I simply don't know."

"And do you feel guilty?" James shrugged; it was hard to say, especially on such short notice. But after a few moments of quiet, the former agent opened his mouth and said a few things that the quartermaster simply hadn't expected.

"Honestly, I don't feel guilty—not for what Vesper and I did, I mean, not because I want to be with her above everything else. I think I feel guilty for not feeling guilty towards Madeleine and her feelings." Q nodded and fumbled with his glasses, as he did quite often.

"Their mum, Lydia, ran off with an Aussie marine biologist, said I hadn't been around much because of work—that I was missing out on the kids and I was neglecting her and her needs. I never felt so utterly humiliated and powerless—I felt as though I were being stripped of everything that was truly important. When they left, I was devastated, so I buried myself deeper in work—was when the MI6 hired me to be Q. Oh, and my name is Harry by the way."

"I much prefer Q." The quartermaster pushed back his glasses again and shrugged. In a way, so did he. "It was surprisingly nice meeting you—in life and here. It's stupid to say, I know…" Q chuckled and shook his head.

"Make sure you'll be fair to your wife—don't lie to her, don't blame her, just tell her the honest to God truth—that you've always loved Vesper Lynd, that you had believed her to be dead, but now want to try and give it a go. Life is short, you know, Bond? I think you do, probably far better than I. The more time you waste, the more she will age and the more she will resent you. And I'm sure Ms. Lynd doesn't want to be lead on."

"Ms. Lynd doesn't know what the hell she wants." Q chuckled.

"She's a woman—there's a strong chance she's known for much longer than you." James smiled at the remark. He could perfectly imagine Vesper crossing her arms and scowling at the slightly sexist remark.

"I'm expected to take her dog back. Should I stay there or should I go home to Madeleine?"

"You didn't sleep at home?" James Bond shook his head and frowned.

"I thought it was obvious." Bond's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"She's probably furious and outraged—perhaps even crying and burying herself under the covers with a bucket of ice cream—it's what Lydia and my sister usually do. Still, I would go home to her. It's probably bad as it is already." Bond nodded and patted Q on the shoulder.

"Q—do you still have feelings for their mum?" Q blushed sheepishly and then nodded, looking down and distracting himself by petting Tilly's ears. "Then don't waste time."

…

Vesper left work that evening and rode on her bicycle back home. The cool wind hitting her cheeks and her hair flying back in the wind… the speed, the adrenaline—it was liberating and she loved it. She parked in front of Ben's café and smile as he saw him through the glass window of the entrance. She grabbed her small purse that was inside the bike basket and entered, not caring if her hair was messy and all over the place or that she was slightly sweating and out of breath. With Ben there were no inhibitions, she didn't have to try so hard—dress up or pretend to like things that he did. With Ben it was easy, effortless and he was handsome and so easy to like…

But to like isn't to love and that hurt Vesper so very much. Ben could have very much been "the one", the man she could settle down with in a little house in Surrey, raise children with and have a yard with flowers and a vegetable garden—one of those monstrous SUV's and host dinner parties and brunches.

With Bed she could live the ideal life, grow old with sitting on a front porch and watching as the grandchildren ran about and played in the yard—but she wasn't the ideal woman, with the ideal life. She had seen and done such terrible things, she had suffered such a great deal and Ben—he seemed almost too perfect, too innocent, too ideal. And perhaps that was why her thoughts always reverted to James, because just as she was, he was a misfit who had also seen and done horrors, who had hurt and been hurt and he made her feel so alive, made her heart pulse so rapidly in her chest she felt she could very well die from exhilaration. When she was with him, it was a hungry and immense, bittersweet disaster. She felt pain and pleasure all at once—she burned out of desire for him, but she also burned of guilt. The pain she could be causing someone else entirely—someone who probably hadn't a clue of the delicious indecencies they had done in her bed all of yesterday.

She wanted many more of those nights—desired them with all she had. But the more rational side of her would then invade her conscious and admonish her—Vesper Lynd you shameless woman, stealing away another woman's man, you're nearly forty for crying out loud—it's about time you grew up, married and started a proper family. James Bond is married already, he's out of the market and you should just give up on him. Vesper Lynd, he is not the family type, it's a surprise he even married. Do you think he will just give up on his beautiful and much younger wife for you? It's always been ardent kisses and sex, sex, sex. When all that grows old and he grows tired of you—do you really think he won't got out after a cute pair of legs to shag, as he's doing to his wife now with you?

And when those thoughts became so overwhelming that Vesper felt like rolling into a ball and crying in a dark corner because she was so sick, dark and twisted—her heart and emotions would take over, her desires would take over and she would forget about all of those insecurities. Because as much as she denied it—she didn't belong with Ben, she had never been the type of woman who sought that ideal little life, being the ideal little wife. She wanted James now more than ever.

"Well if it isn't Ms. Vespertine… Your regular today?" Ben asked with a smile. Vesper smiled back and shook her head.

"I think I'd rather that indecent looking chocolate cake." She pointed, "And some cognac if you have any." Ben smiled and nodded.

"You look different—what happened?" Vesper blushed a deep shade of pink and smiled widely.

"I think I had an epiphany!" She was almost childlike in her joy.

"Of what sort?" His smile was just as wide and those brown eyes shone with delight and curiosity.

"I think I finally know what I want with my life." Ben chuckled.

"Well, that certainly calls for a celebration!" He served her a glass of his most expensive vodka and slid it towards her. He served himself as well and as they toasted and threw back the shots, there was no longer a doubt in Vesper Lynd's mind.


	6. Chapter 6

He hadn't slept at home. He hadn't slept at home. _He hadn't slept at home_. The thought sickened and tortured her—she felt nauseous just at the thought of him betraying her with another woman. She should have known that it would never last, that once a womanizer always a womanizer. The thing is, one always tends to think oneself the exception—no bad will ever come to us—only to the neighbors, only to the anonymous people on the news. She had been silly, juvenile, far too trusting. She had lay all of her walls and barriers down for him—only for him to take it all for granted.

Worst of all, James had turned himself away from her—his wife—instead, giving himself to another. James had made his choice, even if he did not realize—and it hurt far more than Madeleine Swann had ever anticipated. Only a few months ago, she had even been entertaining the idea of children, a larger home in the country… She hadn't shared any of this with him—just like she had been very good at hiding that awful miscarriage, much earlier in their marriage.

These were sensitive and life changing things for women. Things of almost unbearable pain—pain that despite all attachment or sympathy, he and no other man would ever know or feel quite as well. The pain was unspeakable and she carried her survival of it like the greatest of battle honors. These were the silent battles women were known to always have fought.

And now there was another battle and it had taken her too much time to notice. It was a battle for his heart, for his love—it was a battle for him, James Bond and Madeleine wasn't even sure he deserved such a thing.

Today was her day off and she found herself in comfortable attire, sunglasses and coat on, walking the streets of London in search of any sort of pleasant distraction. She saw the large banners with bold letters and graphics adorning the grand entrance of what was London's haven of the arts. The London Gallery had been for a long time the place she would come for some peace and quiet.

She sat on the long wooden bench of the classical-era wing, staring at a statue of Aphrodite, goddess of love and sexuality—looking nothing of what today one would consider sexy or beautiful. And Madeleine felt a little bit more beautiful herself, because if the almighty Aphrodite looked that way, then she herself couldn't be so bad.

James no longer desired her, but Madeleine could still desire herself.

…

Vesper Lynd passed through the wide marble corridors several times that day. Each time—headed to her office, headed to the labs, headed to the finance department—every time she passed through the Greek antiquities section, the golden-haired woman was sitting there, staring fixatedly at the female statue. Vesper would be lying if she'd said she wasn't intrigued.

The mysterious blonde had an effortless elegance about her, but she also irradiated a sadness worthy of a painting or song. A sort of sadness that Vesper Lynd recognized as being similar to the one she had carried throughout her life.

"Ms. Lynd—so we can continue from where we left of tomorrow?" Vesper's intern, Elsie, questioned with those doe-like eyes and perhaps too fashionable pink and blue hair. The older woman nodded and waved the young girl goodbye. Tomorrow would be another day. With a sigh, Vesper Lynd stared down at her wrist watch only to confirm that the day's shift was over and that in less than an hour, the gallery would also have to close. She eyed the blonde woman, just a few feet away from her, oblivious to Vesper's very existence here. No longer the type of woman to simply allow opportunities to pass her by, Vesper sat an arm's length from the woman. After a full minute, she turned her head and green eyes intent on not shedding a tear, met with Vesper's blue ones.

"A bit of a disappointment, is she not? Her beauty I mean… Half the people scoff at her and the other half are in awe—I'm not quite sure though if for the correct reasons." Vesper said, trying to break the very thick ice. At this point she was tapping the tip of her heals against the floor in anxiety.

"Is there a correct reason?" Came the answer, with a slight French accent that Vesper recognized as once being her own.

"Some pay attention to how she was sculpted, the type of stone, what sort of instruments were used—measurements, numbers, proportion—others pay attention only to the flaws—deterioration: arms, fingers, colors missing. Some pay close mind to her face and body—the way she is almost masculine in facial structure, in the length and shape of her nose, the severity of her lips, and her seemingly ungraceful limbs. Her breasts are too small, she is far too fat, her feet are too large, her shoulders too broad…"

"Then why in awe?"

"Because embedded in her are many of our own insecurities as females. And in a way, I think we envy her, because if to have all these so-called flaws and still manage to be the goddess of beauty—well, it's almost revolutionary isn't it?"

"Yes, yes indeed, almost revolutionary." Madeleine wiped away a teardrop from the corner of her eye that threatened to fall. "I am a psychiatrist—I deal with people's mental illnesses, insecurities, vices, problems… every day, for a living. I am one of the best, mind you, of my generation…" Vesper couldn't help but smile at this. "Yet I can't seem to handle all of this pain and sadness I'm feeling—almost like loss—as though someone I love has died."

"Well, as hard as we try, we can't be our own shrinks—pardon the word—I learned this the hard way. There are things in life that cannot be done alone."

Madeleine caught sight of the employee card, clipped to Vesper's red, frilly blouse.

"Ms. Lynd, curator—I'm sure you have a lot on your plate." Vesper shrugged and smiled bright crimson.

"I was intrigued by you." She said with a chuckle, staring ahead at Aphrodite.

"Goodness you're blunt! I'm married." The blonde cried out, seemingly outraged by the other woman's comment.

Vesper's eyes went wide at the mistake and she shook her head, her cheeks blushing brightly, almost the shade of her lipstick.

"Oh God— _no_ , I'm not flirting with you!" Madeleine Swann's expression was of pure confusion and even a bit of humor. She hadn't expected any company this evening. "I was intrigued because you just spent at least four hours sitting on this bench, staring at this single sculpture. I discarded the possibility of sleep quite a while ago."

"So in a way you were spying on me? I heard your heals against the floor several times. I could tell when you were frustrated and when you were confident and also when you were tired." Madeleine said, although by her tone, she really didn't mind.

"I'm working on a big exhibition—stressful as hell to get artists and other museums on board for artwork exchange. And of course there is the whole thing with _funds_ —always the economy as an excuse…" Madeleine couldn't help but chuckle as the dark haired woman before her rolled her eyes and waved her hand in the air dramatically—as an old Hollywood actress would have done—maybe Greta Garbo or Katharine Hepburn. "You must think I'm mental…"

"Actually you're a mild case, yes." Madeleine humored and Vesper smiled. There was silence between them for a long few moments, however, not at all awkward. "Husband troubles…" The blonde admitted, with a deep sigh. "It's what led me here. I needed a calm place to think and to sort out my feelings. Because you see, I believe my husband no longer loves me, at least the way he seemed to when we first came together or the first months of our marriage. It all feels so sudden—I guess I really wasn't expecting it—for our relationship to end so soon."

"But you got married thinking it would end at some point?" Madeleine nodded.

"He's a lady's man, the typical forty-something who wears a fancy suit and watch, consumes copious amounts of alcohol and lures pretty young women into his lavish hotel rooms." Vesper cringed and shook her head.

"I know one of those."

"Yes, and so I think he's infatuated himself with someone else." Without even noticing, tears already rolled down Dr. Swann's cheeks. Vesper pulled out a clean white tissue from inside her purse and handed it to her.

" _Love is a rebellious bird_ …" Vesper whispered with a small excuse for a smile.

"You're a fan of opera?" Vesper nodded.

"Of all things _chic_ … naturally." She said with humor in her voice.

"I don't even know what I'm doing here, sitting in this museum, saying these things to a complete stranger… I apologize for wasting your time."

"I'm Vesper." She said, outstretching her hand.

"Madeleine."

"See, now we are no longer strangers." Madeleine smiled wistfully.

…

It was dark as Madeleine Swann walked back to their house, feeling as though a whole lot of weight had left her shoulders, upon opening her heart to the dark haired stranger from the museum—Ms. Vesper Lynd.

And that's when halfway across a busy street, she involuntarily halted—the name and the face, those beautiful intriguing eyes now all falling into place. She had seen and heard of that woman before, she had seen her name in the tape at L'Americain, the very one her husband had looked at for a long time and discarded. The same name of the woman Blofeld had showed James at the Spectre base in the middle of the desert. Vesper Lynd had been James' love, the one who got away.

It seemed almost unbelievable, but at the same time, her name wasn't common enough for Madeleine to say it could be a coincidence. And the hair, the eyes, the figure—it was the same person.

And before Madeleine Swann knew it, she heard a loud and frenetic buzz of a car horn and then a huge amount of weight coming against her body—and pain—until everything went black.


	7. Chapter 7 (re-written)

**I have entirely re-written chapter 7. I felt like the other one was completely alien to all that I had written in this story so far. I also wanted some things to come to the surface between James and Vesper, before the consequences of Madeleine's accident come to play.**

 **I deeply apologize for the long period of hiatus, life and writer's block getting in the way. I can't guarantee updating the chapters so often, but I do love this story and think it's one of the bests I've ever written and I do not think Bond and Vesper's journey should end here.**

 **As always, reviews are love and much, much needed to get the muse working.**

 **Thank you for reading!**

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The sun was coming down as James Bond exited the MI6 gym, having showered in the locker rooms and dressed in casual jeans and shirt. He felt much more content than he had in a while, as he walked towards his car, whistling an old tune like one of those in-love Fred Astaire characters—all he needed was a fancy cane. More than ever, James couldn't get his mind off her—that mischievous gleam in her blue eyes or the perfect curve of her heavy breasts as they lay in her bed, pleasuring each other as they hadn't in so, so long. He felt passion again and his heart both ached and swollen with love. He wasn't a fool though and real life was a far cry from a Fred Astaire romantic musical. As Bond turned the key in its slot he had to stop and think where he truly and utterly wanted to go—home to his wife or home to Vesper, and the latter was far more tempting.

James hadn't heard of or spoken to Madeleine all day and to be quite honest, wouldn't know what to say to her, how to confront her. The choice was quite simple to make—a matter of what was more comfortable and less problematic in the short term—so he bought Vesper those Belgian chocolates and her favorite Italian wine that he owed her and was on his way.

…

Vesper arrived at home from work with a tension on the back of her shoulders and neck, that not with all of the rubbing and exercising she would be able to get rid of. Kicking off her shoes and hanging her bag, she headed towards the kitchen, where she poured the lazy Tilly her food and water and where she rummaged through her refrigerator for something sweet and decadent to eat. All there was were yesterday's Chinese leftovers, milk, butter, half a jar of olives and a can of tomato sauce. She sighed in defeat and was about to fool her stomach with the olives when she heard a knock on her door. She felt butterflies in her stomach and all of her worries melt away—she knew it was him, James, for Tilly not once had barked, instead wagging her tail excitedly by the front door.

Vesper couldn't help but feel like a silly teenager, her heart beating rapidly in her chest in anticipation and checking her hair in the mirror before turning the key and being face to face with the man she so long ago nearly gave her life for. He had her favorite wine in one hand, a brown paper bag hanging by his wrist. The other hand gently pulled her in for a kiss and she, on the tip of her barefoot toes kissed him with the same amount of joy and pleasure to see him. Her skin tingled beneath his touch, her entire being desired him—his lips on her delicate skin and him inside of her, doing wonders with her body and soul. James Bond was here with her and Vesper felt fulfilled, as she hadn't in a long time.

She locked the doors behind them—also locking themselves from all the troubles, worries, the world outside. This was their little sanctuary now and as much as she had told herself she _wouldn't_ —for once Vesper allowed herself to be selfish—for once she would put her happiness first. Life was too short, she'd always repeated this mantra to herself… but few times she had lived and acted upon this consideration. One more time could never hurt.

He made himself comfortable on her sofa, playing with Tilly who rolled around on the floor before him, expecting a belly rub and someone else's attention. He chuckled and repeated, _silly little dog_. Vesper smiled as she watched them from the doorway, wine glasses and bottle opener in her hands that she had gone in to fetch. It warmed her heart—his presence—as though this was how it should have always been between them.

"Seems as though Tilly has a new favorite human." She said, placing everything on top of the coffee table, sitting on the opposite side of him on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her.

"I had a dog growing up—much larger than this one of course… in Scotland." Vesper nodded.

She knew of his childhood there, something he had shared with her long ago in Italy, when the sun still seemed to shine upon them, when she was young and foolish and thought no harm would come, that those horrible men would forget about her and let them be in peace. How wrong she had been, how utterly silly…

"M—the former M, she died there, between the walls of our property's old chapel. How ironic, isn't it, my parents buried on the hills of that church and then a woman who in a way, I had loved as well, she died there too?" His blue eyes were saddened and Vesper took hold of his larger hand—she too had known so much loss and grief in her life.

"M and I had a love and hate relationship," Vesper interjected, a small smile coming to adorn her features. She paused as she watched James open the bottle and pour them both the rich red liquid of the wine. "She forbade me of ever seeing and contacting you again—my whole identity, even my hair changed and every few months I was transferred to a different country, with a different name. But every single time she would be there—in person, or a letter or a simple phone call. At first we couldn't stand one another. I despised her for making me disappear and die as Vesper, but in life."

"And then?"

"I began to understand her reasons, even if I didn't agree with them or downright hated everything she made me do. Obviously, I hated being ordered around and having to live under the mercy of someone else." James chuckled sadly as he listened to this, to him it sounded very much like the proud and defiant Vesper he knew—he took a sip out of his glass. "With time, she became almost a friend and I looked forward to hearing her voice when she called, even though I'm sure she never felt the same." Vesper couldn't help but let out a little laugh at this, even though James could tell it wasn't out of joy or humor.

"You see, she was the only person who called me Vesper, the only person who knew and acknowledged who I was or had been. She kept me sane, fed, cared for, alive. It's complicated really…" Vesper got up and made her way towards the television cabinet, taking from inside a round butter-biscuit can. Opening it, she revealed several pieces of paper, envelopes and notes scribbled with the deceased woman's flourished writing. "I kept every single one…" She handed it to James, whose hands rummaged through Vesper's memories. There were also some photographs scattered about; photographs of her, but not exactly as herself. On the back in what he knew to be Vesper's own neat cursive writing were names, places and dates.

In one particular photograph her hair was shorter and light-blond, she looked almost Swedish. Behind Vesper was a three-story building with large windows, a tall flowering tree in front. It was cold as Vesper wore a heavy coat and boots, she didn't smile though – not with her lips, not even with her eyes. On the back, it read simply, _Anna Franklin, Stockholm, 2010._

On another photograph, she sat by the entrance of the Alhambra palace in southern Spain, she wore wide and flowing white trousers and a cotton shirt of the same color, elegant as always. She wore dark sunglasses, but no smile. Her hair was deep shade of red and not an inch passed her shoulders. On the back, it read _Emily Carter, Spain, 2008_.

"You've seen some sights…" Vesper smiled at his words.

"That spring was particularly difficult—my thirtieth birthday. I had to convince M to let me go—I had been staying in Madrid. It had been a childhood dream of mine to visit the Alhambra… turned out to be just too damn painful. I was all alone and nowhere near what I had planned for myself, for my life." Vesper was quick to wipe a stray tear falling down her cheek and force those memories back inside.

James watched as she hurriedly put the can back in its place and nervously gulped down her wine. They had both suffered—with losses, with solitude, with the consequences of terrible choices and mistakes from the past. As she sat next to him, James couldn't help but pull her closer, wrapping her in the safety of his arm. She sighed deeply and rested her head on his shoulder.

She then finally took notice of the paper bag and by a look of the logo printed on, she knew inside were the chocolates she had demanded. She couldn't help but smile, tears filling her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Vesper said, after a very long pause. "I think this meeting was intended to be happier." Bond chuckled at her words and with a gentle hand, raised her chin so that their eyes could meet once again. He stopped to admire the beauty of her for a moment, the two little dots at the side of her forehead—birthmarks—the intensity of her blue-gray eyes that had bewitched him since the very first moment, on that fateful train to Montenegro. Her tears had left a moist trail down her cheeks and he just loved her, loved her more than words could describe. And so he kissed her gently on the forehead, where the beloved birthmarks were; and then each of her closing eyelids, the tip of her nose, each of her cheeks, the tip of her cleft chin… then her soft, rosy lips, to which Vesper responded with a deep and slow sigh of pleasure. "Love hurts so, so much…"

"I know…" He whispered in her ear, causing goose bumps to rise on her skin and right below he placed a long, sensual kiss, her scent of blackberries and vanilla inebriating him completely. It filled him with a desire to be always near her, to get impossibly close. Slowly, Vesper leaned back on the sofa—she felt the same way— her head resting on a throw pillow. Just as ceremoniously, her fingers began to unbutton her blouse, revealing the dark lace of her bra and the generous and sensual curve of her breasts. Her hands took hold of his shirt, pulling him on top of her. He supported himself with a hand against the sofa. Her hands cupped the back of his head and once again their lips were united.

The made love slowly, like two old lovers—and indeed in a way they were—carefully cherishing and enjoying one another's soft touches and lingering kisses. James worshipped her that moment as he had worshipped no other—not even Vesper herself, so many years ago. He never wanted for this moment to end—to have to depart… and Vesper Lynd, heart racing and skin both fire and delight welcomed him home, into her heart, deep within her body. She too never wanted it to end.

…

They lay on her bed, half the chocolates already gone, wine bottle empty. She straddled him that moment, her dark curls like a wild and dark halo crowning her face—cheeks flushed in a dark, dark rose hue. James' firm hands held his lover by the waist and thigh, ever tight against him. He watched, never ending his movements, with wonder as her body shook in complete and utter pleasure. He sat up with her wrapped in his arms, he wrapped between her thighs and kissed her hard and passionately, her hands wrapped around his neck—the heavy breathing, the panting, the warm and sweaty union of their bodies. And then pleasure came for him too.

…

2 am and James is abruptly awoken by the ring of his cellphone. Vesper is peacefully asleep next to him, her dark hair stretched across the white of the pillows. He quickly grabs and answers it, not wanting her sleep to be disturbed. She had work early in the morning.

He climbs out of the bed and walks inside her bathroom, shutting the door beside him.

"Hello?" His voice is deep and hoarse, but all his years of being an agent prevent him from being drowsy with sleep, in fact, quite immediately he was alert.

"Is this a Mr. James Bond?" He confirms, suspicious of a phone call coming in so late. "Mr. Bond we are calling from St. Peter and Paul hospital, I'm afraid there was an accident evolving your wife, a one Dr. Madeleine Swann…" After that his ears go deaf. He just repeats _I'm on my way, I'm on my way._

He quickly puts his clothes back on, his shoes and rummages in the darkness of her living room for his wallet and car keys. Dressed in her silk robe, still half asleep, his eyes meet with the deep blue of his lover's.

"You're going home to _her_?" Her voice is but a whisper. He's so frantic and nervous and shaking.

"No." And he leaves in the dark, leaves _her_ and Vesper's heart breaks all over again, because the ghost of loss—and she can sense it very well—is already upon her once again.


End file.
